Part 16 (1/2)

Exactly half a moon from the day Tharn had s.n.a.t.c.hed Trakor from under the noses of Gerdak's warriors, the boy made his first kill--a fat buck that had come down to a water hole to drink. He had dropped upon its back from the lower branches of a tree, as Tharn had taught him, and a knife thrust into its heart had brought it down.

They sat side by side among the branches of a tree, gorging themselves on strips of raw flesh hacked from the side of Trakor's kill, while below them a pack of Jackals quarreled over the buck's remains. Sunset was only minutes away and already dusk was seeping into the forest aisles.

Trakor was full of plans for the morrow. ”When Dyta comes again,” he was saying, ”let us hunt out the lair of one of the great cats. I need a new loin cloth and I will cut one from the hide of Jalok or Tarlok--after I have slain him.”

Tharn hid his smile by sinking his gleaming teeth into the meat in his hands. ”And how will you go about killing Tarlok?” he said casually.

Trakor was surprised at the question. ”The same way you slew Sadu the day we met. I will spring upon him from a tree and drive my knife into his heart.”

”You will spring into his teeth!” Tharn said grimly. ”Let this be your most important lesson: Seek no fight with the great cats. A life time in the jungle is not training enough to pick a quarrel with any of them.

There will be times when one of them will stalk you down and trap you; then, if you are lucky, you instead of Tarlok or Jalok or Sadu will come out alive.”

”But you have slain them!” Trakor argued.

”True. But never have I sought them out for that purpose. Each time we fought it was because I had no choice, and always the margin between victor and vanquished was so narrow it easily might have gone the other way.”

”I am not afraid!”

”Fear has nothing to do with it. A true warrior does not doubt his bravery; only a coward feels he must prove to himself that he is brave.

Survival in the jungle depends on knowing and respecting its denizens; he who struts along the trails looking for trouble finds himself filling trouble's belly!”

And so Trakor changed the subject and they talked of other matters. But deep within the boy burned the determination to hunt down one of the great cats at the first opportunity. Tharn, knowing this--his own development had gone through the same stage--said no more on the subject.

While they talked Tharn watched his companion, marveling at the change these past two weeks had made in him. Trakor was every inch a true jungle dweller. He sat with his back comfortably against the tree bole, his shock of black hair falling almost to his shoulders in back and rudely hacked off above his eyes. His swelling chest and broad shoulders were burned almost black by the sun, the skin as clear and unblemished as a woman's. The thin waist, narrow supple hips and long straight legs were the hallmarks of a true warrior, and his sharp alert eyes and handsome clean-cut features were evidence of n.o.bility and intelligence.

Fate had placed worthy clay into Tharn's hands for molding and he looked upon his work and found it good.

With this realization came a decision. ”Tomorrow,” he said, ”I must take up the trail of those who hold Dylara. Already she may be within the city of Ammad and I dare not wait longer.”

Trakor flushed. ”It is my fault. Had you not met me she might be with you at this moment.”

”And had I not met you,” Tharn said lightly, ”I might still be looking for the trail I lost a moon earlier. Or Sadu might have caught and eaten me had I gone on instead of lingering here.”

”A score of Sadus could not catch you!”

Tharn did not reply and his smile was hidden by the handful of leaves with which he wiped the blood of his meal from his lips. ”Let us sleep now,” he said quietly. ”We have many suns of traveling ahead of us.”

Otar was utterly miserable. Fresh blisters had broken on his feet for the fourth day in a row and each step was agony. Life as a guard in Vokal's palace had not been strenuous enough to prepare him for a long journey into the jungle, and as he limped along in the company of his fifty companions he heaped silent curses upon the head of Ekbar, captain of Vokal's guards, who had selected him to take part in this mysterious excursion into the jungles surrounding Ammad.

Otar knew full well why he had been one of those so selected. The lovely Marua had chosen him as her mate instead of Ekbar, and the captain was allowing to pa.s.s no opportunity to keep them apart. True, Ekbar was leading the expedition and therefore was unable to take advantage of Otar's absence from the side of his lovely mate. But in view of his aching feet and terror of the grim jungle hemming him in night and day, this was small consolation.

This was the eighth day since Ammad's walls had faded into the south and still no word from Ekbar as to how much farther they must go. Night was not far distant; at any moment now the several advance scouts Ekbar sent on ahead each day would be straggling back to make their reports to the captain. That would be the signal to make camp for the night--something others of the party besides Otar were looking forward to.

In a column two abreast the fifty shuffled along, war spears ready in their hands, bows and arrow-filled quivers at their backs, a stone knife in the belt of each tunic. Over them hung the brooding humid jungle on either side of the elephant path, while in their ears rose and fell the now familiar pattern of sound formed by buzzing insects, chattering monkeys and raucous-voiced birds. Except for the clouds of insects that had a way of working down inside a tunic this was not so bad. It was when night came and the challenging cries of Sadu and Tarlok and Jalok made hideous the darkness beyond the camp's circle of fires, that Otar knew the depths of fear. Then was when heavy paws padded against the earth nearby and yellow eyes gleamed out of the night.

”Here comes one of the scouts!” said the man next to Otar, pointing.